


All Kinds of Conflicted

by AfterUtopia



Series: All Kinds of Love [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, But they fall in love anyway ofc, College, Cussing, Dorms, Explicit Language, Hate to Love, I might bring it back but fastforward to the part that includes Shiro but I make no promises, I'll add more tags as we go, Keith is our cutie artist but in a different way, Lance and Keith aren't soulmates, Lance is a theatre nerd, Like seriously Keith cusses so much idk why it just felt right for him, M/M, Neighbors, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soulmates, The first words you hear your soulmate say are tattooed on your arm since birth, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfterUtopia/pseuds/AfterUtopia
Summary: *****THIS WORK IS TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED*******All of the Klance drama really turned me off to the ship, so I don't know if I'll ever finish this. If I do, I'll probably fast-forward to the part where it becomes Shklance anyway.**Dating someone before you meet your soulmate has been the cardinal sin of this society for centuries, but as information becomes more globalized, people are beginning to question whether that’s the best way of doing things.Lance McClain’s parents are from Cuba, where dating before your soulmatch is not only normal, but encouraged. Keith Kogane is perfectly content waiting around forever; he’s lost too many people to be confident he won’t lose a soulmate too.The boys are just starting their first year of college at Voltron University, and it’s not really going as planned for either of them.





	1. Dear Diary

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta reader so please excuse any errors! You can message me on my Twitter @AfterUtopia if you see any :)
> 
> Also, I don't know who to credit for the soulmate writing prompt, since I've seen this idea a lot of times in a lot of ways. If anyone knows the original, let me know and I'll credit them~
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_Sunday, Aug 29. 9:52 p.m._

_I guess I’m keeping a journal now. Pidge gave it to me. She started working at a retirement home recently, and I guess the dementia patients really got to her. She’s trying to get everyone to write down everything that happens to them, which seems like overkill. When I’m 80 I’ll probably be dead. Plus I can barely read my handwriting now, let alone when I’m half blind._

_Anyway. After like the 40th “Keith, please just promise you’ll do it!” I caved. Pidge is so hard to say no to. Fuck Pidge._

_~~So I guess I’m keeping a journal now. Tomorrow’s the first day of college, which is cool I guess. Not “I guess.” God, I use that phrase too fucking much. Do I use it when I talk? Fuck. This is stupid. I hate this. Fuck you, Pidge. I hope you read this one day after I’m dead and you realize how much writing in journals sucks ass.~~ _

_~~But yeah, it’s super cool that I got into college, actually. I’m really lucky that VU let me in on a scholarship. I aged out of foster care last year, and life’s been pretty shit. This is my big break, I guess. I got lucky. OH MY GOD THIS IS TOO MUCH INTROSPECTION. FUCK THIS, PIDGE. I’m just gonna cross all this bullshit out.~~ _

_Things that happened recently:  
_

* _Left my shit apartment with shit roommates and moved into dorms yesterday. Private room, thank GOD._   


Keith tapped his pen against his lips, then shifted, propping his elbow onto the table and leaning his chin into his palm. He clicked the pen idly. What else was worth writing down?

He lifted his phone to check the time. 10:03. Quiet hours had officially started, which Keith appreciated. It had been chaotic in the dorms since the moment he’d walked in yesterday, with all the freshmen excitedly moving in (and a few sophomores and juniors, but let’s be honest - people generally can only handle one year of dorm life before they upgrade to an apartment). 

There had been a lot of noise, a lot of talk, a lot of invitations to go to the cafeteria with strangers, to go play volleyball, to compare class schedules, to do any one of a seemingly endless list of get-to-know-you activities. Everyone was trying to make friends, and Keith wished he could muster up the enthusiasm to join in, he _did_ , but… also really super didn’t. Making friends was exhausting.

Now, though, it was quiet hours, and although there was still noise, it was the slap of slippers shuffling to the communal bathroom for a shower or the casual talk of new friends as they made their way back to their rooms to get a full night’s sleep in preparation for classes.

It was relatively quiet, and that relaxed Keith.

Or at least it did until he heard excited chattering in Spanish through the back wall of his room. _Loud_ chattering. Did this guy not realize IT WAS QUIET HOURS. IT WAS 10:03. IT WAS THREE MINUTES PAST QUIET HOURS, IDIOT.

Keith groaned and plugged his headphones in, turning music on and the sound up. He needed to finish writing this fucking journal so he could go to bed.

After glaring down at the page for a long minute, Keith scrunched up his nose and added a second bullet his list:

* _That’s pretty much it._   

__  


The way Keith flipped the journal closed and threw down the pen was borderline aggressive, but he excused his irritation with both the task and his neighbor as pre-first-day jitters.

Keith let the music continue playing in his ears as he got into bed and laid down, curling onto his side and pulling the covers up over his head. He grabbed the pillow and propped it up so it lay squeezed between his chest and his arm, with just enough support from his arm to comfortably rest his head on it. 

Once he was properly cocooned by his bedding and the soothing sounds of Green Day, he gave a silent prayer to whatever deities existed that school would go okay…. and that none of his neighbors had found their soulmates yet. These walls were apparently _very_ thin, and he definitely didn’t want to live out that particular college trope.

 

\--------

 

_Monday, Aug 30. 3:17 p.m._

_Classes were fine. Nobody tried to talk to me. Thank god for headphones, am I right?_

Keith glared at the page of his journal. He was back in his dorm room, done with classes for the day, and he was trying to get this record-keeping thing out of the way early. This day was supposed to be a pretty big fucking deal, right? First day of college, and all that. He should have a lot to say.

Hmmmm.

_The cafeteria food is gross as shit. Why don’t they put kitchens in dorms? Why make us pay to eat at this disgusting cafeteria? I’d be perfectly happy just eating packaged ramen, but they don’t even give us a fUCKING STOVE, GOD. I guess I could microwave it? Can you microwave top ramen? What the fuck. What am I even writing. This is irrelevant. Pidge, I hate you._

Keith threw down his pen and pulled violently away from the desk. The motion caused his earbuds to slip out of his ears, making him lose the sweet serenade of Fall Out Boy and instead be assaulted by… what the fuck was that? _Show tunes?_

It was coming from the same direction as last night, where the guy had been speaking way too loudly in Spanish.

The music wasn’t something Keith recognized, but it was definitely from a musical, of that he was sure. And of course. Of course it was a musical. Of course this loud-ass neighbor was a theatre nerd, the loudest kind of nerd there ever was.

And of course he was playing his music louder than any person had any need for music to be.

Hadn’t this guy ever heard of headphones?

Well, two could play at that game, nerd. Keith pulled his headphones out of the jack and plugged his phone into his speakers instead, turning ‘Thnks fr the Mmrs’ up loud enough to compete with his neighbor’s ‘Sincerely, Me.’

It didn’t make him feel any better.

Especially when the neighbor answered the challenge by turning his own music up even louder and - oh dear lord - started singing along.

Like HELL was Keith backing down now. He turned his music up.

So did his neighbor.

Keith cranked the volume all the way up, the sound now physically painful. He picked up the closest thing to him - a handful of pens - and _screamed_ along with his music, “THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES, EVEN THOUGH THEY WEREN’T SO-” Keith chucked the handful of pens as hard as he could at the other wall. They hit with a clatter as he shouted, “-GREAT”

The other boy’s singing didn’t sound angry at all, though, which pissed Keith off even more. Aside from turning the volume up, he appeared to be completely unbothered by Keith’s frustration.

“Fucking _hell,_ ” Keith growled, and stood up to - he didn’t know what - bang on the wall?

Before he could, there was someone banging on his door, and the voice of the R.A. came shouting through. “Turn your music down, please!”

Keith squinted his eyes but obeyed, turning it off altogether. He grabbed his backpack - not his school backpack, but the tattered one full of paints - laced on his shoes, and left in a hurry, slamming the door on his way out. 

If there was one positive to all of this, at least he got to hear the other boy get told off as well, before the door to the stairwell shut behind him and he was out.

 

\----

 

_Tuesday, Aug 31 5:29 pm_

_I know all I ever write in this journal about is how much I hate writing in journals and how much I hate my neighbor, but I fucking hate my neighbor. He TV was on for HOURS today and it was SO LOUD and I don’t understand why he can’t just fucking use fucking headphones?????_

_Ugh._

_Anyway. Second day of class was okay. One of the teachers seems like a real asshole, but whatever. I’ve dealt with assholes before, I can handle this jerk._

 

\-----

 

_Thursday, Sept whateverthefuck, 7:48 pm_

_I forgot to write yesterday. Sorry Pidge. Except I’m not sorry at all, and Pidge is never going to read this._

_I overheard a sophomore telling a freshman that the food in the cafes is way better than the cafeteria, and that our meal points work in the cafes the same way, so it doesn’t even cost extra. Oh my god. Let me tell you. You? Journal? Whatever. Let me tell you. The sandwich I had for dinner today was a gift._

 

\-----

 

_Friday, Sept 3 11:55 pm_

_It’s been a really long day and I’m exhausted, so I’m skipping this again._

That counted as a journal entry, right? Keith had promised Pidge he’d write that night, and he did. Technically.

And now he was going to bed.

….Or not.

If there was a god, did they have it out for him? Did they hate him? What had he ever done to deserve a neighbor who came home late at night yelling in Spanish. Like a repeat of Sunday, except this _louder_ because whoever the guy was on the phone with, they were in a full-blown argument.

Keith let out an angry sigh, then grabbed his headphones and shoved them in his ears, turning some music up to try to drown out the noise.

It didn’t work.

He shoved his head under his pillow, pressing down to try to block it out.

It… kind of worked? He couldn’t hear the yelling, but there was no way he was going be able to fall asleep like this, too-loud music in his ears and arm straining to keep the pillow tight against his ear so he was barely able to breath.

That didn’t stop him from trying….

Ten minutes later, Keith flung the blankets off of him and got up, giving up on the idea of sleep for now.

He sat in his desk, picked up a pen, and started writing.

_Guess I’m writing in this fucking journal after all, because MY NEIGHBOR IS AN INCONSIDERATE ASS WIPE._

 

\-----

 

It was one in the morning before Keith got back to his room the next night. Saturday - technically Sunday now, if you want to get technical with it. He’d spent the whole day looking for jobs and gotten nowhere, and then he’d tried to hang out with Pidge, who he hadn’t seen all week, but she’d gotten called in to work last-minute right after he’d gotten to her place. And _then_ when he’d tried to call it a day and go home, his motorcycle wouldn’t start. It had taken him hours to fix - hours full of uncomfortable conversations with Pidge’s too-nice family members.

Basically, it had been a shitty fucking day. 

And now Keith was exhausted, and he didn’t even turn on the light as he walked into his dorm room, electing instead to slip off his jeans and fall straight into bed in his red plaid boxers and black t-shirt.

He was so, _so_ ready to sleep.

Sucks to be you, Keith, dear boy. Because that’s hella not what’s about to happen right now.

I’m sure it comes as a surprise to _no one_ that when Keith closes his eyes to sleep, he doesn’t get that blissful silence he so desires, but instead hears a sound from the room behind his.

Again.

The difference, this time, is that instead of blaring music or yelling with complete abandon, his neighbor seems to be attempting to stifle the noise. 

Which makes sense, considering the neighbor is crying.

 

\------

 

Lance McClain wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying. This was the type of cry that was difficult to stop, born from tears that had been dammed up inside until there was no more space for them, until they broke loose and there was nothing he could do but let them flow. 

His head hurt. His throat hurt. The skin around his eyes was puffy and red. 

And god… he had never felt so alone.

Lance wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying, but at this point, about a quarter past one in the morning, the gut-wrenching, breath-stealing sobs were slowing into sniffles and hiccups muffled by his pillow. He still didn’t feel any better than he had when he’d started, he just felt… empty.

It was also at this point, about a quarter past one in the morning, that Lance realized his sad little hiccups weren’t the only sound he was hearing. There was… music? drifting through the wall.

It was Hamilton, he realized after a moment. ‘Wait For It.’

A tiny smile formed on Lance’s face, buried in the pillow. Angry Emo Boy was playing Hamilton? 

_’My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher.”_

Almost unconsciously, Lance found himself mouthing the echo, the words not even a whisper, barely a breath. “Preacher, preacher, preacher.”

_’But there are things that the homilies and hymns won’t teach ya.’_

Lance’s echo was slightly louder this time. “Teach ya, teach ya, teach ya.”

When the next line came, Lance couldn’t help it. With his face still pressed into the pillow, he whisper-sang along. “My mother was a genius. My father commanded respect. When they died, they left no instructions -” Lance lifted his head. “- Just a legacy to protect.”

As the next line progressed, Lance’s voice grew less shaky, less quiet - if still somewhat hoarse. “Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints - it takes and it takes and it takes. And we keep livin’ anyway - we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes.”

Lance sat up, the smile on his face growing, his voice growing more sure.

“And if there’s a reason I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died, I’m willing to wait for it. I’m willing to wait for it…”

When the chorus broke, Lance flipped enthusiastically from his seated position so he was kneeling on his bed, facing the wall with the music.

“Wait for it! Wait for it. Wait for it! Wait for it.”

With an enthusiastic flourish of his hand, Lance jumped from the bed, belting out, “I AM THE ONE THING IN LIFE I CAN CONTROOOOL! I am inimitable; I am an originaaaaal!”

He strode across the room towards the door with a grand, sweeping gesture. “I’m not falling behind or running late. I’m not standing still - I am lying in wait!”

From back at the other end, the wall the music was coming through, Lance hears what he thinks is another voice playing the part of the echo, a quiet, “Wait!”

He grins, faces the wall, and continues, “Wait!”

This time, he definitely hears it - the answering “Wait!” from the other side. 

Lance moves closer to the wall. “Hamilton faces an endless uphill cli~i~imb.”

Again, the other voice, the echo: “Cli~i~imb.”

“Cli~i~imb.”

“Cli~i~imb.”

Lance is close to the wall now, his whole body moving dramatically with the music. “He has something to prove, he has nothin’ to lose!”

Again, he and the other boy switch off on the echo.

Lance has lost all track of time, and he stamps along with the words as he sings, “Hamilton’s pace is relentless - he wastes no ti~i~ime.”

He can hear laughter in the other boy’s voice as they do the echoes this time, and Lance grins.

As the music quiets for the next line, Lance lifts his hand softly to place it against the wall, and sings, “What is it like in his shoes?”

The other voice joins him for the next part, and they sing quietly together. “Hamilton doesn’t hesitate. He exhibits no restraint. He takes, and he takes, and he takes. And he keeps winning anyway. Changes the game. Plays and he raises the stakes.” Their voices grew louder. “And if there’s a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive, then God damn it, I’m willing to-”

The other voice cuts out as Lance says “Wait for it” so he can join in again as the echoing “wait for it.”

Lance’s body shakes back and forth in time with the beat, far too caught up in the moment to remember why he was upset, far to into this to express himself with just a smile. “I’m willing to wait for it!”

A pause, and then the other boy joins in with him again as they sing far too loudly for a dormitory in the middle of the night, “Life doesn’t discriminate! Between the sinners and the saints - it takes, and it takes, and it takes, and we keep living anyway!”

They broke off again, Lance singing the part of Burr while the other boy sang the backup, and then joined back up again for the final part. “And if there’s a reason I’m still alive when so many have died, I’m willing to -”

“SHUT.” There was a bang through the wall, and a new, muffled voice. Lance was sure there was someone banging on the other boy’s door. “UP.” Another bang.

As the final, quiet _‘wait for it’_ s trailed off, Lance heard a quick “Sorry!” and then the music was gone completely, leaving the dorm in utter silence, aside from Lance’s breathless laughter.

Lance turned so his back was leaning against the shared wall, and he slid down until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Even though they’d gotten yelled at, he was smiling. Crying had left him empty, but now… Well, he didn’t feel quite so empty anymore.

“Sorry I was so loud,” he called quietly through the wall.

Lance waited a few, endless moments and got no response.

He spoke again. “You probably shouldn’t have even been playing your music so late at night, anyway. Haven’t you ever heard of headphones, dude?”

Another long, empty pause.

Lance gave one short, awkward laugh. He was starting to feel self-conscious. “My voice doesn’t usually sound this shitty,” he added suddenly, although he didn’t explain that the reason his singing hadn’t been up to his usual standard was because he had been crying just before.

This time Lance wasn’t expecting a response, but this time he got one. “Mine does,” the other boy said, and Lance laughed.

He stayed there on the ground for a while, but he didn’t say anything else. After about a minute, he heard the other one get up move around for a minute, opening a drawer in his desk, and then get back into bed. Then there was quiet.

 

\------

 

Keith’s journal entry for that day simply read:

_9/4/18_

_Today was a pretty good day._


	2. Say My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I’m going to try to update every Tuesday! I have sooooo much planned for this series, so I need to set myself a timeline or I’ll never get it all done. But I’ve never done a multi-chapter fic before so we’ll see how it goes, haaa. 
> 
> Also. I had a whole big thing written for Chapter 2 that was skipped ahead a month, but then I got kind of sad thinking of all the cute things that I could have written for the in-between times, so here’s a chapter that I rushed to put together in the last few hours and is barely proofread. I’ll try to catch the rest of the mistakes tomorrow, because I need to sleep. Hope it’s ok!

“What are you _doing_?”

Keith was sitting at his desk, working on some assignments on his laptop for the next day, and it had been relatively peaceful until GUESS WHO started making another huge racket - but what else was new, honestly?

The loud, scraping sound stopped for a moment, and his neighbor called back, “Did you say something?”

“I said ‘ _what are you doing,_ ’” Keith shouted, turning his head towards the wall.

“Oh. I’m moving my bed!”

Keith shook his head softly and turned back to his work.

There was another loud screech, and then the distinct sound of a young adult body jumping onto the ancient springs of an old mattress.

“See?” The neighbor knocked on the wall between them. “Now I can talk to you without having to sit on the floor!”

Keith rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “We’ve only talked like twice!” He would never move his bed to be closer to his neighbor like that. Although his bed had already been placed against the shared wall when he moved in, so it was an irrelevant sentiment. But still. It was the principle of the thing.

“We’ve talked more than twice!” the answering voice protested. “It’s been a whole week and our conversations have been beautiful.”

Keith snorted and leaned forward again to concentrate on his homework. 

His neighbor chimed in again in a sing-song voice, “You won’t admit it, but it’s tru~ue. You like our talks too.”

Keith didn’t respond.

 

\-----

 

Later that night, Lance lay on his bed, curled into a ball on top of his pillow as he faced the wall.

“Hey, are you there?”

There was silence from the other side.

Lance sighed and shifted, pulling another pillow over and snuggling up to it.

“I can’t sleep,” he whined, burying his head into the pillow in his arms.

His neighbor answered this time. “And that means you need to keep me awake, why?”

A smile bloomed on Lance’s face. “Because I’m _bored_. I can talk to you or I can play music too loud again, it’s your choice really.”

“Nuh-uh,” the other boy replied quickly. “It’s past midnight, it’s way past quiet hours.”

“Well good thing I don’t need to play music, since I’m talking to you,” Lance said happily.

In the silence, he imagined his neighbor tugging the blankets up over his head to try to block Lance out. Not quite loud enough to keep anyone else awake but loud enough to bother his closest neighbor, Lance began to sing: “AGONYYYYYY, far more painful than--”

“ _Dude!_ ”

“Let’s play the question game,” Lance suggested quickly.

Silence.

“Come on,” he said. “What’s your favorite food?”

Lance scooted closer to the wall so he could hear better. He only had to wait a few moments for an answer.

“Wendy’s.”

Lance laughed. “What, just… the whole store? All of it? All of Wendy’s is your favorite food?”

“I like the four for $4.” (And now we take a quick commercial break for our sponsor, Wendy’s Restaurant! Juuuust kidding.)

“Mm, yeah, steal of a deal. Sometimes I think about what would happen if someone had it four days in a row, and I’m pretty sure it would set us on the darkest timeline. Like, I think it would actually warp reality.”

There was silence from the other room, and Lance gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, you’ve done it haven’t you! You’ve had a four for $4 for four days in a row!”

More silence.

“You’ve ruined us, dude, this is the darkest timeline. It’s your fault Kanye is running for president. That’s on you, man. It’s your-” Lance sat up quickly with another loud gasp. “ _-You’re_ the reason IHOP sells burgers now! You monster! I can’t believe you did that to this planet.”

“IHOP sells burgers now?”

“Yeah, it’s insane.” Lance settled back down onto his stomach, laying his head in his hands. “You’re supposed to ask me a question now.”

Silence again.

“Come on man, haven’t you ever played the question game before?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

A repeat question, but Lance would graciously let it pass. “I like to cook. It really sucks we don’t have a kitchen, sometimes I think I’m going to lose my mind having to eat the campus food every day. One day when I have access to a stove, I’ll show you! I’m pretty much a master chef. They don’t call me Gordon Ramsey for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that.”

“You don’t know that!” Lance paused. “Okay, yeah, nobody calls me that. My turn! Where are you from?”

There was another long pause before the other boy answered. “Near here.”

Lance shifted again, so he was lying on his side. “Oh, yeah? Like, in town, or?”

“Where are you from?”

“Hey, you can’t just keep asking me the same questions I ask you! That’s not how the game works.”

Lance took the next silence to be the equivalent of a shrug. “Fine. I’m from California, but I spent the last four years living with my abuela in Cuba, where my parents grew up. So it feels like I’m from there too.”

The two freshmen actually made it through a few more questions each, to Lance’s pleasant surprise. He learned that his neighbor didn’t speak any other languages, and that he was pretty decent at martial arts. Lance also learned that whenever he asked a question too personal, like about Keith’s family or most of his past, he was met with silence.

It made it really difficult to get to know a guy, that’s for sure.

But the silences told a story too, in their own way.

“Okay, my…. my turn again,” Lance said through a yawn. “What’s your name?”

The reply was quick and curt. “You’re tired now. We should sleep.” 

“Come on, man, I gotta call you something.”

“No.” That, in itself, was strange. His neighbor never said no; he just kept quiet when he didn’t want to talk about something.

“I’ll tell you mine,” Lance said earnestly, trying to win his neighbor’s trust. “The name’s--”

He was cut off by a loud, harsh, “I SAID NO.”

“Okay, damn, I’m sorry.” Lance could hear the other getting up. “Wait! I’m sorry, I won’t--”

The door slammed shut.

“...Well, shit.”

 

\--

 

Keith drove

and drove

and drove

and drove

until his hands were chapped from the wind and the dash on his motorcycle showed dangerously low levels of gas.

He drove because if he stopped for even one second he might start to think about why he was so against learning the other boy’s name, and he didn't want to do that. He didn’t want to remember, or think, or sift through emotions; he just wanted to get _away_.

So he drove until he was forced to stop at a small gas station out in a country town.

This was stupid. He had class in the morning, and it was another two hour drive back to the school. He was barely going to get three hours of sleep, at most. _Fuck_.

There was no reason to act so irrationally anyway, and he knew it, and that was the worst part. If anything, he should have stormed out for a walk, so he didn’t get too far away.

But his neighbor was sweet, and fun, and trying to claw his way into Keith’s heart, and suggesting that their friendship might actually be a friendship someday, and Keith was having none of it. And the questions kept getting worse, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t--

_Deep breaths, Keith._

He counted to ten, shoved the problem aside, and drove back home, counting on copious amounts of Dr. Pepper to get him through the next day.

 

\-----

 

Pacing.

Lance checked his phone. 3:05.

Pacing.

Lance forced himself to sit and watch Netflix. He made it through 20 minutes of an episode. 3:38.

Pacing.

Lance tried to do homework. He managed to type his name at the top of the page. 4:02.

Pacing.

The door in his neighbor’s room opened.

_Finally._

Lance had tried to wait for the boy’s return the previous night, hoping to apologize. He didn’t know when he fell asleep. His alarm had woken him up just in time to get ready for class, but as soon as he’d gotten back home, he’d been so nervous for his neighbor to get back. Their strange little friendship was small, but it was important to him.

“I’m so sorry!” Lance called quickly through the wall, and then immediately regretted it. What if the other just turned around and walked back out?

“I’m fucking exhausted,” came the gruff reply. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Okay.”

…

Pacing. 4:15.

Pacing. 4:20.

Pacing. 4:25.

“Holy shit. I can hear you freaking out in there. Fine. Talk.”

The relief was clear in Lance’s loud exhale when he heard those words, and he rushed to the wall. “Look, I shouldn’t have pushed you after you said no, and I’m sorry. I won’t ask for your name anymore. Are we okay?”

“Sure.” Unconvincing.

“How do you feel about nicknames? I think you’d make a great Garyl.”

Lance heard a soft snort.

“How about Broderick? Doug. Alexander the Gay! Julius Ceasar Salad. Abraham LinkedIn. George Washing _donewiththisshit._ Tiffany. _Acere_. Satan’s Stepson. Precious Angry Wannabe Emo Soft Boi. Snuffleupagus. Pancake. Flu--”

“I’m going to sleep.”

When he was interrupted, Lance could hear the humor in the other boy’s voice, and he knew he was forgiven. Lance smiled. “Night, Pancake.”

 

\-----

 

Over the next few days, Lance tried out a lot of nicknames for his neighbor. Most were met with silence, some with laughter, occasionally a “GOD no” or “what the actual fuck?” but never anything satisfying enough to stick with it.

That was fair. Most of the ‘nicknames’ Lance chose weren’t serious.

Tonight, he called out softly to see if his neighbor was there and awake. “Hey, Red?”

After a moment, a response: “Red?”

“Yeah, you like that one?” Lance smiled. The guy had never sounded curious about any of the names before.

“Why?”

Lance didn’t want to explain. It would’ve been weird, and maybe even scared off a normal person, let alone this guy who was afraid to talk about anything too personal.

“Just liked the sound of it,” he answered instead.

“Me too.”

“Okay. Red it is, then.”

It was a couple of minutes later when Lance heard his neighbor speak again.

“Can I call you Blue?”

“Why Blue?” he asked curiously.

“You said it was your favorite color. During the question game. Because it’s the color of the ocean and the color of your eyes.”

Lance hadn’t expected him to remember. “Yeah, I like that... Goodnight, Red.”

“Night, Blue.”

They stopped talking, and soon enough Lance heard soft snores from the other room. He smiled happily into the darkness for a long while before he, too, fell asleep. That night, he dreamed of color - bright blue ocean, and a deep red sunset, and him exploring the waves in a boat with a person whose face he couldn’t remember in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Acere_ \- Cuban slang for “bro” (according to Google - I’m trying to keep the Cuban stuff to a minimum since I’m completely unfamiliar with it and don’t want to disrespect anyone, but I think it’s important to include parts of it. So I’m going to try bits and pieces, and if I mess anything up, please feel free to let me know.)
> 
> Comments fuel my life and motivation, so please comment if you liked it! Thanks so much for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters won’t all be following the journal format! I thought it would be a fun way to tie all the days together in this first chapter, but I don’t really want to have the whole fic be like that. Just as a heads up, I guess, so you know what to expect? 
> 
> Anywayyy, I pretty much live off of Mountain Dew and verbal encouragement, so please leave a comment if you liked it! I’m 10,000x more likely to feel motivated if I know that people care. And I have sooooo much planned for this series, so I really want to stay motivated! I’ve got plans for a Hunk/Shay one, an asexual Pidge one, Lotor/Allura, and a Sklance fic that will be several years past this fic (and maybe Matt/Kuron, but I don’t have a plot planned for that one yet). They’re all going to be part of my soulmates series, All Kinds of Love. So, long story short, I’m really excited to share this with you guys, and I hope you’ll stick around for the ride! And - I can’t emphasize this enough - it would mean the world to me if you left a comment so I can tell whether people are liking this or not <3


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